YOU CAN RUN, YOU CAN HIDE BUT YOU CAN'T ESCAPE MY LOVE.

And here was me thinking Enrique's career had died with his mole, but no it is alive and flourishing on Koh Lanta. Too bad there's nobody visiting here to hear it, it's flourishing amongst the pervert parade working at our hotel. The main culprit is a young man with a smile that, at best, could be described as cheeky, at worst as murderous. Luckily it seemed his grimace was reserved for kangaroos, his favourite animal. That was until he slid over to my bezzie Ciabattz, 'I tell everyone one hour ago when yo go to Seven Eleven, I tell everyone, I say to my friend, I say 'She looks like kangaroo'. They are my favourite animals, I love kangaroo, I really love them.' Oh shit.

The hours that followed were some of my favourite, and her worst, of travelling. Choice quotes:

'Your teeth, your nose and your face look like kangaroo'
'You have to marry koala'
'A lot of people like kangaroo, NOT ALL'
'Yes kangaroo can snorkel'
''I want to bring you back to the jungle, you have to mate with koala. And tomorrow you have to jump to where you go.'
'A lot of people like koala, NOT ALL.'

Unfortunately he likes them so much that he follows us home and receives a kick to the crotch for his efforts. But not before he issues an ominous premonition, 'Kangaroo cannot ride moped.' No Kangaroo cannot. Kangaroo crashed into a poor Thai lady's washing rack. Kangaroo goes flying, knickers and bras everywhere, prompting my most intelligent friend Sir Podge's response, 'Why did your bra fall off?'

SEE, IT'S SHIT.

Turns out no one lives or comes to Koh Lanta. Sir Podge, the little party animal, and I, HATE it here. #megafirstworldproblems. Let's hope Phi Phi lives up to it's rePHItation, geddit.... nevermind. Alriiiiiight, as Ciabattz insists Koh Lanta's PROBABLY the most beautiful place we've ever been, but WHERE'S THE PARTY?

HALALRIOUS.

We packed our bags and said 'Goodbye' to Bangkok, off we went with a trumpety trump trump trump trump, the head of the herd was calling from far, far away... STOP IT HARRIET.
Off we went (possibly with a trump. My God, Thai street food is delish) to the Tiger Temple, Church of Tigers, filled with Tiger Lords.There were Rajah's everywhere, there was Papa Rajah and Mama Rajah and Baby Rajah and Fat Rajah and lots of dozy Rajahs and Monk Rajah (an honorary human member of the pack) and Angry Pacing Rajah. APR was clearly the real Rajah, his eyes spoke of a Whole New World, one where tigers were free to roam... on a magic carpet ride... Where's the gift shop? I need a tiger skin rug. Phuk-et we're off to Phuket.

 

SAME

In a wonderful J.M.Barrie Neverlandish (totes a word) fantasy we stopped on our way to play in waterfalls at sunset, sliding down rocks in plunge pools whilst the local children played in the streams winding through the forest, their parents washing clothes or cooking at the edge and watching on. I can't even being sarcastic about this it was so wonderful, no photo could do it justice. 

However. Phuket, or Benidorm-en-Thailand was not wonderful. As much as the bar in Patong in Bangkok was the playground of the paedophile, this is where they come for Spring Break after graduating college. A lot of Israelies. Who knew that a nation that gave us the Bible and Uri Geller (well..) could be so seedy. Luckily we have a great opener for those boys a touch (too) sleazy; 'We hate football and Jesus, what we gonna chat about?'. Halalrious. I don't think we're having the greatest time here in Phuket; on our evening jaunt to the Bangla Road - AVOID AVOID AVOID - I seem to have texted 'I hope to have sex with someone who is not disabled' (CLEARLY I meant emotionally) and my bezzie has responded '...And who is not over fifty.' Whether this reflects badly on the night or on us I am unsure. You're travelling Harriet, try new things. This perfect evening was completed with one of my 'faves' cleaning the alcohol and (always) fish flavour crisp spill she'd made on our room floor with my duvet; 'You said I could.' Yeah cos that sounds like something I'd say. 

Bum explosion, however, is something it seems I'd say. Queuing at the WHEATY WHEATY GLUTEN ALLERGY HELL FEST pancake stall I announced to my nearest and dearest that this was definitely about to lead to 'the biggest bum explosion the world has ever seen', thank God no one speaks English here. Glares galore. Oh wait they all do. You classy, classy English girl. 

On to the next one.